Twas morn, and, wending on its way,
Beside my path a stream was playing;
And down its banks, in humor gay,
A thoughtless boy was idly straying.
Light as the breeze they onward flew—
That joyous youth and laughing tide,
And seemed each other's course to woo,
For long they bounded side by side.
And now the dimpling water staid,
And glassed its ripples in a nook;